Maya had never felt that kind of anxiety in her entire life.
The lights in the gallery were soft and golden, making her paintings glow against the clean white walls. Her friends moved from one side of the room to another with glasses of wine and smiles, whispering things to her like "You have made him very proud."
But Adrian was not there.
She kept turning to look at the door and hoping to see his tall figure walk through it. She imagined his deep laugh that always calmed her without effort. She kept on waiting for the man who had promised her he would be in the front row that evening.
Her hands were shaking as she moved one of her paintings. She made the painting just for him and named it "Closed Eyes."
The painting showed a man wearing a perfect suit but looking very tired, with his eyes closed like he did not want to see the world anymore. People at the show liked the painting. But she did not like it, because she knew that man very well.
Her phone suddenly vibrated. She quickly picked it up, her heart beating fast.
A message came in:
ADRIAN: I'm a little late. I promise I will make it better.
The show had started one hour ago. She tried typing a reply, erased it three times, then finally sent a simple:
Okay.
Everyone kept saying it was normal. They reminded her that rich people like billionaires have busy lives and sometimes work comes up at the last minute. But she wondered, how many times can a heart wait and feel this pain?
By nine o'clock, people started to leave the show.
By ten o'clock, the room was almost empty. Her smile was tired, and her voice was rough from saying thank you to guests she barely heard. Her best friend, Clara, came over, looking worried.
"Is he still coming?" she asked softly.
Maya shook her head. "He said he was just late. Maybe something important came up."
Clara sighed. "Something always comes up, Maya."
Her words hurt because they were actually true. Adrian's life was full of meetings, long flights, and late-night calls. He had told her once, "You're my escape from all that." But Maya did not want to be just a break for him. She wanted to be his choice.
When the last guest left, Maya walked back to her painting. The man in it seemed to look right at her, even with his eyes closed. For the first time, she felt angry. Angry that she had let herself believe she could fit into his busy life. Angry that she kept checking her phone every few minutes. Angry that she cared so much. She turned off the lights one by one, stepped outside into the cool night and walked toward her small car.
Across the city, she knew Adrian was probably sitting in a tall glass building, closing a deal that would make him even richer.
Her phone vibrated again.
ADRIAN: "Can we talk later tonight? I just finished something important."
Maya typed back: "The show is over now, Adrian."
Three dots appeared on the screen as though he was typing. Then they disappeared. Then nothing. She leaned against her car, her eyes burning. She told herself not to cry, but the tears came anyway. They rolled down her cheeks quietly, like rain falling before a big storm.
Far away, in a shiny office high above the city, Adrian Cole rubbed his tired head. The deal was done. It had taken weeks of work, millions of dollars, and all his attention. He had promised himself he would finish in time for Maya's show. But he couldn't. He looked at his phone. Her message was there, glowing:
"The show is over now, Adrian." He quietly cursed, "Damn it."
His assistant, a thin man with glasses, looked in. "Sir, the investors…"
"Tell them to wait," Adrian said sharply. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out.
In the elevator, he could hear her voice in his mind. The way she sounded last night when he said he might be late. "Just don't forget me, Adrian," she had joked. He laughed. But she did not. When he arrived at the gallery, it was dark and empty. Only one light was on, shining on one painting, the man with his eyes closed.
Adrian stood there for a long time, unable to move, his eyes locked on the painting. The more he looked, the more he noticed: the worry etched into the man's face, the tight line of his mouth. It wasn't just a portrait…it was a mirror, a reflection of himself. He wanted to call Maya. To say something, anything. But what could he say? That he missed her biggest night because he was stuck signing papers? That he had let her down once again?
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but there was no one there to hear it.
When Maya finally got home, she kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the couch. Outside her window, the city lights shimmered like a dream that no longer felt like hers. She had once believed that Adrian's world could become her own, that she could walk beside him without feeling small. But tonight, the truth settled heavily in her chest. She would always be waiting for him to show up, for him to choose her. And she was done waiting. She opened her laptop and began to type an email.
Subject: Keys
Message: I will leave them on the counter. Please don't come tonight.
Her fingers hovered over the "send" button. She thought of the tired smile he gave her, the way his hand always found hers without thinking. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed "send" anyway. The soft whoosh of the message leaving her inbox felt like a door closing. She lay back, letting the tears fall, not the quiet kind, but deep, shuddering sobs from somewhere far inside. She cried until there was nothing left. When her phone vibrated again, she didn't even look.
Later that night, Adrian stood alone in his penthouse, the city sprawled beneath him like a sea of lights. Her email glowed on his screen. He read it over and over. He tried to call her, but it went straight to voicemail every time. His eyes drifted to the empty space where her brushes once sat, the faint scent of paint that used to fill the room. He didn't notice the tear that slipped down his cheek until it touched his hand. For the first time in a long time, Adrian Cole felt less powerful. He felt lost. He whispered into the silence,
"She's gone."
And for once, there was no deal, no meeting, no promise that could fix this.